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“I’ll tell you what I remember. There were…” He trailed off and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “A lot of drugs involved in those days.”
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“No, not at all.”
She took her phone back, opened a recording app, and set it in the middle of the table.
Pete glanced at the device, then blinked and leaned back in his seat. “Well, where do I start?”
“Let’s start with the basics. What was the commune called?” Ellie asked, adjusting her glasses as she looked at Pete.
God, she was sexy when she went into podcaster mode.
And that was not an appropriate thought right now.
“When we were there,” Pete began, “they called themselves The Free People. We thought it was perfect—my wife, Harmony, and I were young and idealistic with a baby girl that we didn’t want to raise in a greedy capitalist society. We were looking for community and spiritual enlightenment. The People taught that shunning the trappings of modern society allowed you to live closer to nature as God intended. And it was so peaceful at first. Communal living, self-sustainability. They even had their own schooling system.” He frowned. “But a few years in, things began to change.”
“What kind of changes?” Cal asked.
“It was subtle at first. New rules and obedience to those rules became paramount. Our contact with family and friends outside the commune became severely limited, which had never been a problem before. Nobody cared if you wanted to go into town, but suddenly, leaving the commune became almost taboo. We had these communal confession sessions that I thought were so freeing, but then they started to feel like interrogations, public shaming. People were expected to confess their darkest secrets, and then the council would use it against them later as a means of control.”
Ellie frowned. “How did they use the confessions to control people?”
Pete sighed, running a hand over his ponytail. “Well, for example, if you confessed that you missed your family on the outside, it would be seen as you being attached to the materialistic world. You’d be shamed for it and then made to do some atonement work.”
“Atonement work?” Cal did not like the sounds of that.
Pete winced. “Physical labor mostly, breaking rocks or digging holes. They put up an eight-foot fence around the commune that way. Sometimes, depending on the severity of the infraction, the atonement could last for days on end with little food or water.”
Ellie gave a small gasp. “That... that’s inhumane.”
Pete nodded sadly. “Yes. Yes, it was. And that was when I started seeing the writing on the wall. Our peaceful commune was starting to give Jonestown vibes, and I didn’t want to be involved anymore, but it took Harmony a bit longer to come around.” His gaze drifted over to his daughter as she laughed with their patrons at the bar. “It wasn’t until Shepherd, the leader, started showing an inordinate amount of attention to our girl that Harmony finally saw it, too. We left that night. Moved back to town, eventually opened this pub…” He waved a hand to encompass the room. “And tried to forget about them.”
Cal followed his gaze to Rose, and his stomach churned. “Any idea if Hope could have been brought in for… the same reason you mentioned?” He had to force the question out.
Pete’s gaze was grave as he looked at Ellie. “It’s possible. Shepherd had a thing for pretty young women.”
Tears welled in Ellie’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She put up a brave front, but Cal could see her trembling hands. He resisted the urge to reach out and wrap his hand over hers. She wouldn’t accept the gesture. Not from him.
So, instead, he refocused on Pete. “Do you know if anyone tried to leave after things started to get bad? Is there anyone else we can talk to who might have seen Hope?”
Pete frowned. “There were more defectors, from what I heard, but they were few and far between. Shepherd had a way of making people fear the outside world—he called it the corrupting influence of capitalism and industrialization. His favorite saying was, “The more time spent outside the walls, the more corrupt the soul.’ It was bullshit meant to keep people inside.”
His voice grew faint and distant like he was lost in the memories. “You know, it sounds weird, but the hardest part wasn’t leaving. It was adjusting back to normal life. By then, we’d lived in a constant state of fear for so long that small things—like going grocery shopping or watching TV—felt strange, almost unnatural.”
He shook his head and seemed to come back to the present. “I know it don’t make sense how folks get pulled into something like that, but they prey on the vulnerable, ya know? We were just searching for something, a place where we could belong and be free. But it turned out to be anything but. if your sister got involved and hasn’t been seen since… I’m sorry to say you might never get her back. Their hold is that great.”
Ellie was quiet for a moment, staring at the table with a hard set to her jaw. She was fighting back tears, trying to keep her emotions in check. She slid her file across the table and pulled out the print of the girl from the country store. She set it in front of Pete. “Can you tell me the significance of the robe and belt?”
Again, he studied the photo closely, his brows drawn together in concentration. “I’m sorry. The robes weren’t really a thing when we were there. Shepherd wore a white one occasionally, but it was mostly for special occasions like weddings.”
“Thank you, Pete,” Ellie said. Her voice was soft and strained. “You’ve been incredibly helpful. I... we appreciate it.”
“Wish I could do more,” Pete replied solemnly as he slid out of the booth, his face lined with years of worry and regret.
“You’ve done enough. We know more than we did, and that helps.”
Ellie gathered her things and got up from the table. Cal resisted the urge to tell her it would be okay. The truth was he didn’t know that—they were dealing with potential cult activity, and there were far too many unknowns.
